Every Fall Hurts
by UnregisteredMutant
Summary: Alfred and Arthur were inseparable only a few centuries ago. What now? How does the relationship develop after the fall of an empire?
1. Chapter 1: United Nations?

The United Nations meeting had only begun an hour before, but Kiku had been given the floor to speak. The first order of business for the day was food, and Japan always had plenty to say on the matter. The general rule had been eight minutes per speaker (as dear Ludwig had always demanded,) but the ideas made sense to those who were still paying attention so no one spoke up.

Matthew had chosen the room for the meeting; the other countries agreed to allow him that so he would not feel so bad when they lost track of him. Four stadium-styled rows of five seats each climbed in front of a little stage where the speaker would take precedence. It was a little odd for a roundtable discussion, but Matthew probably wanted to be sure he was heard if he spoke.

As expected, Alfred took the center seat of the front row. The boisterous American would want fast access to the microphone if an idea struck him. Yao took the seat beside him, with Ivan taking the end. The other side had been filled by Kiku's empty seat and Ludwig took the end so he could kindly remove anyone going over their time. Feliciano, being as awkward as ever, pulled a chair beside Ludwig as opposed to finding a normal seat further back. His whispers continually distracted the timekeeper.

"Mister Germany! You cannot interrupt-a Mister Japan! That would be a-rude." If it weren't for the fact that Kiku would be remarkably silent on any other topic, he would've been pulled aside four minutes ago. Ludwig simply did not have the heart to cut off his quiet ally.

Lovino sat on the end of the second row to be closer to Feliciano if they needed to discuss something; Antonio took the liberty of occupying the empty seat beside him. Arthur had been sitting behind America to begin with, but he contemplated moving when Antonio was beside him. Unfortunately, Francis saw the opportunity to ruin Arthur's day and quickly blocked him in by sitting beside him. Heracles reluctantly sat beside Francis, as it was the only solo seat open.

Kiku had been droning on for at least fifteen minutes, and most of the countries had completely zoned out. Yao and Ivan had begun a series of battles via rock–paper–scissors while Ludwig and Feliciano had scratched out several games of tic-tac-toe. Alfred had thrown his feet onto the table before him and grew jittery from boredom. Behind him, Arthur had paid close attention and taken notes the entire time. Naturally, Alfred could not let that be. He began throwing his hands behind him to block Arthur's view of his notes.

Annoyance and anger from being surrounded by other nuisances had already reddened his face, so he was in no place to deal with Alfred's tactics. He slapped his hands away time and time again. Arthur muttered vague threats to the pigheaded American.

"Stop that this instant or else, you prat." Francis and Antonio had not actually done anything to Arthur yet, and Kiku had now bored them to napping. Arthur was rightfully worried of them seeing Alfred's behavior, however, as they would surely take the advantage and begin their own poking and prodding. Alfred refused to let up; it would be un-American to give in so readily.

His hands left Arthur's face and traveled to his knees. It might seem sensual to some, but this area was particularly ticklish for the Englishman. He instantly thrashed back when Alfred squeezed his kneecap, biting his tongue to control his laughter. His foot lurched forward and kicked the annoyance's shoulder.

"OW! That hurt, you ass!" Alfred was as good at being quiet as he was at eating healthily; he sucked. Arthur's angry blush turned to embarrassment, as he feared everyone would stare, but no one seemed to notice. Kiku went on about putting seeds into satellites and raining them upon the earth, keeping everyone in a zoned state–of–mind. Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, Arthur shot a demeaning look at Alfred knowing full well how much weight his disappointment would carry. Alfred turned forward and ignored the other for a bit, his pride fighting his embarrassment._ It was just a good time. Snobby bastard._

Arthur continued with his notes until Kiku concluded his tirade. Feliciano applauded quite loudly, waking the sleeping countries and alerting the distracted ones to his conclusion. Alfred, needing a distraction from himself, jumped to the microphone. Not that he needed it, of course.

"All of this talk about feeding the world has made me hungry! How about lunch!?"

"Alfred, ve 'ave only been here for ninety minutez-" Ludwig could not get very far in his defense of the meeting before Feliciano shouts.

"I made a–pasta!" With that, Feliciano was out the door. All Ludwig could do was rub his sinuses in frustration and follow after him; the others muttered to themselves and left. As soon as Heracles and Francis had cleared the aisle, Arthur gathered his papers and dashed to the door. Alfred was already in the hallway and grabbed the rushing man by his bicep to pull him aside.

"Dude, what the hell! It was just a little fun." American pride demanded he get a response.

"You were being an utter child. Kiku was making excellent points on how to better the world and you couldn't pretend to pay attention because it wasn't about you." Arthur ripped his arm from Alfred's grasp and gave him quite a scowl; a wave of guilt took the other's chest. It was the same look of disapproval he would get for mucking something up as a child. Without another word, Arthur stormed off.

"Learn to take a joke!" Alfred was proud he got the last word in, but there was a hollow meaning in that pride. Arthur never used to be so stuck-up, but the years had gotten to him. That did not make it any easier for Alfred, even in his lighthearted prodding of the snob. He knew how great Britain used to be and was never quite sure what happened.

A few of the countries were partaking in Feliciano's pre–prepared pasta, but Alfred would have his cheeseburgers alone in the meeting room. Arthur was in neither the meeting room nor the dining area. Instead, he took his tea outdoors beneath a great oak tree. He took a slow inhale as he intended to exhale his negative thoughts, but it failed. A small sob crept up into his throat, but he choked it down with a sip of not–quite–steeped tea._ It was just a rough morning. Get a hold of yourself, old chap. This is no way to act at the United Nations. Alfred will just have to feign maturity or face my wrath._

A snarky smirk took his face as he finished his meal in full composure. Alfred would shove his emotional state to the back of his mind for the rest of the day, but what of that night?


	2. Chapter 2: Blinking Green

Arthur spent the rest of the day's meeting in the back row; he knew Alfred would not leave the limelight, so there would be safest from his antics. Matthew took the center of the second row, but still no one noticed when he would raise his hand to speak. Ludwig did his best to keep everyone's tirades under eight minutes, despite Feliciano's pleas to not be rude.

"Somevun must keep order, eetaly!"

As expected, Honda was silent for the remainder of the meeting. He sided with Alfred in any voting, but that was the extent of his participation. Francis would try to make some ridiculous recommendations, but Arthur's sharp tongue would cut them to pieces. Nothing terribly unordinary occurred until that night.

Matthew had arranged various embassies for the visiting countries, but some had to share. Alfred, being the arrogantly invasive man that he was, already had his own embassy prepared years ago. Heracles and the Honda agreed to share for the week, so did Feliciano and Ludwig. Sweden never left Finland's side, so Matthew found it easier to keep them together. (He was still a little afraid of Sweden, so his embassy was on the other side of the grounds.)

Everyone else fell into place; Antonio and Lovino begrudgingly accepted an embassy together, Francis and Ivan played the odd couple, but there was one extra. Arthur was fine being alone, but Matthew insisted upon finding him a place.

"It's like a slumber party! We need to find you a buddy." The obvious choice was Alfred, who had an embassy built for twenty to his single self. Of course there was protest, but even an asshole would not leave poor Arthur by himself. An older bedroom was cleaned up for the Englishman, and he made himself quite at home. Although he was thoroughly annoyed with the pompous freak, there was an aura of comfort surrounding the house. Arthur unpacked his Union Jack pajamas (and swiftly hid his teddy bear among the sheets) before boiling himself a nice bit of chamomile tea to relax his nerves.

Alfred, still donning his suit from the day, slowly approached Arthur's bedroom door. He raised his hand to knock, but his egotistical aggravation stopped him.

_ That little asshole will just slam the door in my face. I bet he can't even see how awesome it is that I let him stay here! I bet he can't even see…_

A quick scoff and a turn of the heel led him away from the door. Only a hallway later was he at his own bedroom. He angrily de-robed and chucked the suit into a pile. The weather was a bit chillier in Canada then he was accustomed to, so his typical pajamas where not enough. Blood red silken pajamas were ready in the drawer, and Alfred huffed as he yanked them on. Running his hands down the length of his sleeve helped distract him enough to realize the suit would wrinkle if he did not hang it properly.

No amount of distraction could keep his mind from what needed to be thought. He desperately tried; the suit was hung beautifully, the sheets were tucked back as if ready to be photographed, and he even threw open his book. "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald was a reasonably poor choice of literature in the grand scheme of things, but it was next on his reading list. Alfred posed himself upon the bed, one foot on the ground and his right arm beneath his head. Even in the most distraught of times, his ego would not let him be disheveled. Should someone enter, he must be able to hold his esteem higher than they could–even in pajamas. One day, his ego would get him in trouble. Perhaps it already had.

A chapter later, Alfred growled at the novel. "This is so stupid! He should get the girl!" The book proved to be an excellent frisbee before thunking against the wall. Another exasperated sigh rose sharply from his chest as he threw his head dramatically. A quick shift of his body and he was pacing the floor in no time. After hours of internal protest, all he had left was his thoughts.

_What the hell is wrong with me? No, not me. Him! Arthur was never like this when I was a kid. We would have fun; we wouldn't fight. He was stern, but Goddammit. How sore of a loser can you be? He did this to himself. The snobby bastard wouldn't let me do a damn thing on my own. It was his way or the highway. My way would have led back to him if he hadn't kept pushing. Always pushing…_

Alfred leaned to rest against the bedpost. To his surprise, it was not where he expected and instead flung himself to the floor. The crash seemed to echo throughout the world, but everything does seem louder at night when one is trying to be discreet. Resigned to his thoughts, he did not bother to try to get back up. A defeated hand raised and rubbed the back of his cranium, but there was no real damage to check for. A shallow sigh graced his lips and he lied there a moment more.

"I just want my big brother back. Why did he have to ruin everything? That selfish pig."

Gritting his teeth with anger, Alfred slammed his hands to the ground and shoved himself back to his feet. He pulled his glasses off and tossed them onto the nightstand before hiding himself under the blankets. After shutting off the light, an empty darkness took his navy blue eyes. Sleep would fight him tonight, but he was not alone in the battle.


End file.
